Blankets
by KnightNight7203
Summary: "He's become sort of an expert at stealing blankets over the years. But he is nothing – nothing – compared to Katherine." In which Jack and Katherine can't share and end up snuggling instead.


**Guys I'm literally a mess.**

**I had to go to school, which is a mess just by itself. I only drank out of my Newsies cup. I wore the same dress I wore last time I was at the Nederlander, because I thought that might make me feel better. It didn't. I listened to the recordings people have been putting up of yesterday and cried. That was a very bad idea. I wrote some. I cried a little more.**

**Please ignore me, I'm pathetic.**

**But anyway, in between forcing myself to study I wrote some snuggling to make myself feel better. Hopefully this makes you guys smile, too.**

**Standard disclaimers apply. I think it's safe to say it's not mine.**

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It's not something he's necessarily proud of, but he's become sort of an expert at stealing blankets over the years.

Of course, he's never done it for himself, no matter how cold the winter gets and how drafty the holes in the walls make the Newsboys' Lodging House. But between the younger boys whose lips turn blue after trudging through the snow all day in their worn boots and the ones in the Refuge whose ragged clothes barely cover their bodies, it's become a regular occurrence, anyway. He can handle the guilt and the police chases – nobody deserves a little warmth more than his boys.

He's locked up for it once, then again, and he'd like to say it stops after that but it doesn't. He just takes from Medda with permission a little more and from others without it a little less. He's more careful. He gets better at moving quickly and silently.

But he is nothing – _nothing_ – compared to Katherine.

It doesn't take him long to realize that she is a champion blanket-thief. He goes to sleep completely covered in the warm quilts spread across their bed and wakes up curled beneath nothing closer that the ceiling, shivering and unable to wrestle any of the fabric back despite a most valiant effort. If he drags himself out of bed to fetch the extra blanket they save for if one of the boys stays over, it isn't long before she's somehow appropriated that too.

Even on the days when he somehow manages to secure the covers for himself – there never seems to be enough for both of them – she unconsciously presses her icy feet up against his legs until he gives in and wraps her in the warmth. Which means that within minutes, he's uncovered and facing the chills again, because she's rolled over and taken his share of the blankets with her.

Most of the time he's content to put on another pair of socks and watch her quietly breathing in and out as he waits for sleep to take him once more. But some nights, when the nightmares hover a just little too close on the periphery and the wind howls just a little too loudly outside their thin walls, even her presence in the bed isn't enough for him to force himself to lie there shivering. He's spent too many nights frozen and alone to be able to face that darkness right now.

"Jack?"

Her voice draws him out of his thoughts, and he raises his eyes to meet hers. He's crouched on the floor by the stove in the kitchen, the only source of warmth right now since their heat is broken again and they don't have a fireplace. There's a strange smell coming from the appliance, probably from the mess she'd made last time she tried to cook – maybe that's what woke her.

"Hullo, Ace."

She smiles at him, even though her face is tinted with concern and exhaustion. He feels bad – she'd been up late finishing an article. Reaching around him, she turns the oven off before the charred remains littering the bottom can burst into flames. "Jack, what are you doing out here? It's late. Come back to bed."

He lets her take his hand and lead him back to their room. She pushes him back onto the pillows and pulls the quilts up to his chin, smiling comfortingly at him and snuggling close. But he doesn't move against her like he normally does, just lies there stiffly with the edge of the blankets clutched in his fists.

"Seriously, Jack, are you okay?"

"I just hate the cold," he mumbles. She laughs gently and runs her fingers through his hair. He relaxes slightly, but his grip on the fabric is still firm.

"I know you do," she says. "But it's nice and warm under here, see?"

He mutters something under his breath. She raises an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, until you steal the covers again," he says, nervously now, not making eye contact. He cringes, like he expects her to get mad. But she just sighs and pulls away to study him.

"I'm sorry," she finally says. She can tell the cold has really been getting to him, and she knows enough about his past to have a pretty good idea of why. "I didn't know I did that."

He snorts. "Well, ya do, Ace." Then he grins a little, letting go of the blankets with one hand to pull her close again. "But that's okay. I still love ya."

"That's good." She thinks for a minute, then wraps an arm around his waist. She's now pressed tightly up against him beneath the quilts, and he can feel the warmth of her body through his shirt. Her touch sends heat all through his veins with every beat of his heart. "You know what?"

"What?"

She smiles. "I bet if I hold onto you instead of the blankets, I won't pull them away."

"But then I might end up on the floor or somethin'," he points out, only half joking. She scowls at him, and he can see it even through the darkness. "Just kiddin', Missus Kelly."

"You'd better be." She presses her face into his chest and sighs. "I love you."

He smirks. "You'd better."

This time, the blankets stay wrapped around the two of them all night long, and she's still secure in his embrace when they wake the next morning. He's warm for once as he watches her breathing gently in her sleep. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

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**Reviews are love. I need love. :'(**

**Much love,  
KnightNight7203**


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